I Will Wait
by bo-leigh bella
Summary: Erik's thoughts when Christine cannot take the truth and the moment that will keep hope alive.


**Hi everyone. Please forgive me for my tardiness in updating and posting. I am tring to correct it. Please enjoy this short one shot. Which btw is my first attempt at first person POV. **

**COVER ART- The beautiful cover for this story has been used with permission from Muirin007 from deviantART. Her work is amazing and I suggest everyone have a look at her amazing renderings of Erik and Christine plus many more. Her link can be found on my profile page, please check it out. :)**

**Hope this leap of faith turned out all right.**

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><p>What do you do when you love someone so much it aches every tortuous moment you are separated from them? How do you cope when you see their smile at another's voice, their hand enclosed in one that isn't worthy to touch their sacred skin.<p>

The Vicomte! I could tear him apart limb from limb, torture him with the slowest most painful methods ever thought of and still I shall not be satisfied. How I loathe his existence. She trusted me before that fool appeared to woo her and court her. She wanted me. She sang for me. She came to me!

She.

Christine Daae. What curse has she laid upon my heart that I cannot write for thinking of her? Music no longer satiates my thirst for beauty. No, only she can. Her lovely voice inspires me, her sweet naïve heart that can look past a mask to the monster that loves her. Or could.

Until she had surrendered to the unrelenting curiosity and removed the infernal article, then she had screamed. I never thought her perfect tone could emit such an ugly sound. What horrified pitches crashed against my ears, defying the hopes I had cherished. I believed she could see past my face. Why isn't she different? She was supposed to be!

She ran from me. Smart child, she was right to run. She cursed the demon in me and he attacked at the provocation. Viper, demon, prying Pandora, none of these describes my angel. How she had quaked, cowered, under the thunder of my voice. How could I have hurt her so? How could my unworthy, bloodstained hands have bruised her white arms and thrown her against the stone floor of my palace? She betrayed me, but is that a valid argument? Of course not. This is only further punishment for being the monster. Unloved, unlovable.

Yes, my Christine. Run and don't ever turn back to the gates of hell reflected in your mirror. Do not call me, do not sing. For I will answer, I will find you. I cannot resist such a siren call and never will I attempt such idiocy.

Even now I watch her from the rafters, her lithe body fluid as she glides across the stage. Choreography becomes a story in her, _never_ just a dance. Her innocent smile and ravishing body are the most intoxicating contradiction I have ever had the pleasure of seeing. The slight tilt of lips is present now, sweet and pink as her limbs twirl. What I would sacrifice to hold her, just once, to kiss those mesmerizing lips.

"Brava, brava!" My head tilts to the side, better to hear her enthusiastic serenade. De Chagny, why wouldn't he be there? Just to see his perfect face fills me with hatred. He is everything she should have. The ideal, doting husband. But he doesn't know the spirit of _my_ Christine. Oh no! Such passion would be unacceptable for a young lady to possess. He will never see that, she could never give herself permission to be so vulnerable, so unashamed. Only in my lessons had she ever demonstrated such bravery and only my encouragement allowed her to be pleased instead of frightened of herself.

His praise seems to have little effect on her at all; a slight brightening, but nothing in comparison to the brilliance of the smiles she once bestowed me. Yet it is his ring that holds her captive. The gaudy gem taunts me with every flicker as it dances across the chain the swings gently against her elegant neck.

If the Vicomte were gone she would be mine. My hands clench in hunger for _his_ neck, to feel his pathetic life slip away. An Opera Ghost has no heart! Inconsequential emotions like pity and remorse mean nothing. Phantoms murder without a thought, kill without the bother of guilt over the lost life.

If only I was only the Ghost I pretend to be. I am not but a man, a lowly disfigured freak whose heart breaks upon sight of her.

Her.

Must I always be haunted by Christine! May I never have a thought that doesn't travel back to her? No. Without Christine life would be an empty void not worth the effort of breathing in and out. Just to see her and protect her, knowing she's alive and well is worth all the torment I endure. Without her. That is a future too dismal to even comprehend. Music would cease to mean anything and without music I am nothing. She wouldn't even have trusted me without my music's power.

Angel of Music, where have you gone? I wonder if she ever cares enough to spare a thought for her fallen angel.

The devil take this bleeding heart!

I watch her take his arm, her hand lightly resting in the bend of his elbow. Touches, always touches. I have never received even one from those blessed, dainty hands. How I covet to know the feeling of a caress. How I starve for that brief, gentle contact. Just because I am deemed a corpse doesn't mean I am dead. I can feel more potently than most people can dream. And I perish of wanting to feel with my hands and not just my heart. My heart is tarnished and black but my hands are not scarred. They have committed the most heinous sins but they long to worship. To worship her.

If she only indicated she could even tolerate my presence I would happily hope forever. But she has not tried to seek me out and I doubt she ever will after seeing the horror that is my face. The imperfection could tarnish her beauty.

She leaves the Vicomte to change in her dressing room. Well, this is the easiest place to feel close, but never enough. I look away from the mirror dividing us when she disrobes, the temptation would be too great and with our separation, I could never resist. When I look back I freeze instinctively. I am being pinned by her intent blue stare. The depths of those sapphires never fail to stun me. But I am afraid. She cannot know I am watching. Of course, she must be aware how possible it is.

Involuntarily I stride the glass, pressing my aching fingers against reflective cage. She looks back at her door, as though assuring herself it is locked. Her eyes hold fear yet they also give off a potent mix of pain and need. I long to call out, to ask what hurts her, but I must remain mute and avoid another moment of terror.

I see her breathe with specific technique, expanding her diaphragm with deliberant preparation. Sing? Is she planning to sing in the solitude of her dressing room? This is completely illogical, her practices have concluded, there is no plausible reason for her to release her lovely voice.

Peering with purpose at my concealed hiding place, her glorious tone soars.

"_Fate links me to thee forever and a day."_

I gasp at the enrapturing sound, but more so at her chosen selection. She cannot mean…? But why else would she sing the very words I sang to her? To my amazement she walks to the glass and presses her tiny hands against the barrier. They rest against the exact placement of my palms, as thought she sensed me. Then very slowly, she presses a kiss against the cold surface.

"I miss you, _ange,_" she whispers.

I can't breathe, suffocating in my own doubting disbelief. How could she miss me? Why does she torture me with words that make my fists tense to shatter the glass to take her? My arms tremor with the restraint it requires to remain still.

Then it surges through me, singing through my veins: hope. My lips stretch into a smile beneath my mask. Yes, forever and day, Christine. Longer, more eternally vast will I await you. Fate links us and the hope of our future will sustain me. Tolerate me, no, my angel misses me. If she can feel such an emotion I can fight forever for her and never believe a second wasted.

My darling, my light, my salvation.

I will wait.

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><p><strong>I may take this one down if I read it through again. Or improve upon it at a later date. <strong>

**Oh just so you're aware this was based more on Leroux than my last stories.**

**Please review if you enjoyed so I'll know if I should try the same feel again.**

**Much love and thanks,**

**~bo-leigh bella**


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